


The Boy Who Cried Wolf

by tepache



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A+ Parenting, Angst, Fluff, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I love the mauraders more than any other harry potter character ever, Lyall Lupin is a jerk, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Mauraders, Sort Of, Tiny little remus, You can tell I like to ramble in the tags, and at the end, and blames himself for it, and he is too, back before the bite, because let's be honest, even though he shouldn't, gratuitous fluff, honestly, i hate him, we're just sad remus has to go through what he goes through, when he was smol and innocent, which I will stop doing now, wolfstar, wolfstar if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tepache/pseuds/tepache
Summary: Sirius popped the question casually.“So, Moony. How’d you become a werewolf in the first place?”
Relationships: Hope Lupin & Lyall Lupin, Lyall Lupin & Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin & James Potter, Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black & James Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	The Boy Who Cried Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody I would like to start off by saying Wolfstar is the Ultimate Harry Potter Ship that I will die upon and even though this fic isn't too big in that, I just thought that was something you guys should know. 
> 
> Shout out to fandomgremlin on tumblr for beta-ing this. Does it count as beta'd if all your beta did was complain about the fable? Doesn't matter, she's still awesome, pop over there and tell her hi.

“So, Moony. How’d you become a werewolf in the first place?”

Sirius popped the question casually. He was attempting to go over Chapter 7 in Remus' copy of _Monstrous Miscreations in Magical Memory_ with his feet propped up on James’ lap, the both of them on Remus’s four-poster bed. James looked up from _A History of Magic: Year Three_ with a resigned expression; clearly he wasn’t making much progress, though Binns’ two feet of parchment on American Magic Relations was due the next day. Peter was sitting on a plush chair nearby, looking invested in sorting his chocolate frog cards, but the three of them knew he was listening.

“What?” Remus sounded bemused.

Sirius held up _Monstrous Miscreations_ and tapped the cover. “It says here all werewolves are. . .” he flipped open the book and scanned the page before finding the right paragraph, “. . . beings of pure evil and a reincarnation of the devil’s soul. Their sole purpose in life is to turn innocent witches and wizards into barbarians such as themselves. They will not rest until their kind takes over the wizarding world.”

“How the hell does Dumbledore let the teachers assign these books?” James furrowed his brow.

Remus slumped back into the mountain of pillows and blankets overtaking his bed. “He doesn’t know.” His voice sounded a tone quieter and sadder.

“Well, the book’s a bunch of bullshit. We already knew that,” Sirius announced with a note of finality in his voice. “But if all werewolves aren’t incarnations of evil, then what happened to you?”

“Fair question,” James rolled over, pushing Sirius off him with an _umph._ “We don’t know how you became a werewolf, just that you got bit.

“I bet it was in some incredible fight, and you saved hundreds of people,” Sirius exclaimed, bouncing on top of the bed again and earning an indignant shout from Peter before collapsing snug into Remus’ side.

Remus arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes, because five year olds often get into incredible fights.”

“ _I_ got into incredible fights. Dunno about you,” James popped a piece of chocolate in his mouth from the pile on Remus’ covers.

“Maybe he was kidnapped,” Peter cut in, having given up the pretense of indifference. His chocolate frog cards were boxed away neatly, a hex on the lock firmly cast to keep people away.

“Who the hell would kidnap _Moony_?” James wrinkled his nose.

“Maybe his great grandfather is the head of some sort of magical mafia, and Remus was kidnapped for ransom, but his family didn’t deliver, so they bit Remus for revenge.” Sirius proposed a new theory.

Remus shot an incredulous look at Sirius, still nestled quite comfortably within the folds of Remus’ jumper, and looking for all the world that the speculation may be plausible. “Sometimes I wonder whether or not your mind works.”

But it was James who cut in, “Anything’s possible, Moony.”

“Seriously, Remus. What happened?” Peter questioned.

Sirius waggled his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak before Peter cut him off. “Shut it. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, mate. How did a tiny, book-loving, sweater-wearing, chocolate-eating nerd become our resident lovable werewolf?”

\---

“Dad! Dad, there’s a monster under my bed again!”

Lyall Lupin heaved a sigh, folding up this morning’s _Prophet_ in his hands but not putting it away. From the rocking chair across from him, Hope looked up from her bodice-ripper and smirked at him.

“Well? Remus is counting on you.”

“This is the fourth night in a row, Hope.” Lyall shifted on the couch, made to get up, but then sat back down again pointedly. He huffed an irritated noise and snapped open the paper again, though his eyes were fixed firmly on his wife. “He needs to learn.”

Hope tutted. “Learn what? He’s just playing, like all little boys do.”

“He should play like a normal little boy then,” Lyall brought his feet up on the couch, ignoring the drawn out call from his son’s room. “Go outside, make some friends, play some quidditch. But no, of course not. What does he do?”

“Oh, here we go,” Hope removed her reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, staving off the impending headache. She didn’t bother sliding the glasses back on, opting to fold them up and let them dangle from the chain around her neck. She closed the book, marking her place.

“He spends all of his time in his room reading those bloody awful muggle novels. What’s the point of them, anyway? What does a five year old boy need to read about?” Lyall waved the paper about, flapping and fluttering the pages as though they proved his point.

“Remus has an incredible imagination, Lyall,” Hope defended. 

“His imagination is overactive and needs to piss off so I can have some peace.” 

“It’s your fault, you know.” Hope raised her eyebrows at him, accusatory. “You complain about those werewolves all the time. It’s no wonder Remus picked up on it.”

“Werewolves are bastards, and it’s good that Remus knows that. But if I have to go to his room to defeat the imaginary wolf under his bed one more time, I _swear_ ー” Lyall winced as he heard Remus call out from his room again.

“Lyall,” the admonishing tone was something Hope had been using frequently ever since Remus started playing this particular prank. 

“And if it’s not werewolves, it’s some new dark creature he read about in a book. A hinky-puff or something. Or he wants to read some nature documentary out loud to me. Or explain the process of how to make chocolate. It isn’t natural, Hope.”

“He wants to play with you, and the only way he can do that is if you pretend along with him.”

“If he wants to play, then I’ll play. I’ll grab a spare quaffle, or start teaching him how to balance on a broom. What I _won’t_ do,” Lyall grumbled, even as he stood from the couch with a resigned expression on his face, “is pretend there’s a werewolf under the bed that I have to kill so that Remus can jump on me and attempt to attack me. It’s getting old, and so am I. My back _hurts,_ Hope.”

Hope fixed Lyall with a stern gaze. “Humor him, for God’s sake. He’s just having fun.”

Lyall glared back, but said nothing as he grabbed his wand from the coffee table and turned towards the small corridor. He stopped in front of the door, pausing to flick his wand carefully and whisper a _sonorus_ charm. The sounds of Remus shuffling under his covers and pillows filled his ears, as did the muffled giggling sounds. Casting a counter-charm, Lyall sighed once more and plastered on a brave smile intended for vanquishing beasts underneath beds. He opened the door and peered inside the room, his gaze skitting over the various piles of books scattered on the floor, the bed, and Remus’ desk. Anywhere but the bookcases, really. 

A familiar scene greeted him. Remus was half hidden under the covers, trying to look scared, and by all accounts succeeding, if it weren’t for the fact that this was the fourth time he had played this prank. 

Remus shoved the blankets down to his chin, revealing his lips. They were sealed perfectly, not a single twitch of the mouth upward betraying the plot as they trembled in mock-fear. “There’s a monster under my bed, Daddy.” It unnerved Lyall, how good of an actor Remus was.

Lyall went to crouch on the floor, just as he had done for the past couple of nights, when an idea struck him. Or, rather, he caught sight of a book on Remus’ floor with a little boy surrounded by sheep, and it reminded him of an old story. He exhaled sharply and sat on the bed.

Remus pulled his face into a confused pout as he sat up, puzzled by Lyall’s new reaction.

“Remus, I’m going to tell you a story.”

“What?”

“A story. It’ll help you fall asleep.”

“I won’t be able to fall asleep with a monster under the bed,” Remus said stubbornly.

“Right,” Lyall shook his head exasperatedly. “It’ll help with that, too.”

Hesitantly, Remus pushed the blankets back all the way and settled into a comfortable position, legs crossed. “All right.” 

“Once, there was a little boy, who loved to laugh and sing and play pranks with all of his friends.”

“Like me!” Remus, having decided that he rather liked the idea of a story after all, grinned.

“Well, not exactly like you, but close enough. This little boy was a shepherd, and every day, he would herd his sheep up to a grassy field, where they would eat all day. And every night, he would lead the sheep back into the town to their home, where they would sleep. Then, he would do it all over again the next day.”

Remus’s frown was petulant. “That sounds boring.”

Lyall chuckled. “The little boy thought so, too. So one day, he decided to play a prank on his friends. He ran towards the village, screaming and crying.”

“Why was he screaming and crying?”

“He said there was a wolf!” Lyall made a clawing gesture towards Remus, who flinched back. “He said a wolf had attacked his sheep, and he needed help. The villagers all grabbed weapons and ran towards the fields, only to find the sheep perfectly safe.”

“There wasn’t a wolf?”

“No, there wasn’t. The little boy laughed, because he thought he was so clever. He tricked all his friends into leaving their jobs to help him defend against a wolf that was never even there in the first place.” Lyall looked at his son prepensely. Remus had the decency to look abashed.

“The townsfolk grumbled, but they went back home. The next day, the little boy decided to play the prank again. He ran towards the village, screaming and crying and saying there was a wolf.”

Remus waved his hands, effectively interrupting Lyall. “But that won’t work! He already played the prank, so his friends won’t fall for it.”

Lyall caught the little hands flailing in his face, forcing them back to rest on the bed. “The little boy was a good actor, like someone else I know.” A raised eyebrow. “He sounded so scared, and the townspeople believed him. They ran to the field again, but there wasn’t a wolf. The boy just laughed and laughed.”

“That’s mean.” Remus twisted his mouth in a grumpy manner. “He’s mean.” 

Lyall nodded. “Yes he was. But the next day he decided to do it again.”  
  
“Again! Why?”

“He thought it was funny, Remus. He ran to the village, and told everyone there was a wolf. They didn’t want to believe him, but he looked terrified and sounded panicked. He was even crying.”

Remus nodded solemnly. “He’s good at making faces.”

Lyall blinked and furrowed his brows. “Making faces?”

“Like the people do on the telly.”

“Do you mean acting?”

Remus shrugged, smirking a little, knowing how irritated his father became when he used the wrong words. “It’s the same thing.” 

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Lyall jerked his head. “Okay, Remus. He was good at making faces.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, all his friends were sure he was lying. But just in case, they checked again, and like they expected, there was no wolf. The boy just laughed and laughed and laughed, loving how clever he was and how easily he could trick his friends.”

“He’s not a very good friend, is he?” Remus sounded accusatory as he reached across his bed for another pillow. Lyall made no move to help him, but leaned out of the way so the boy could reach the pillow easily.

“No. No he wasn’t. Now, the next day came, and the boy was herding sheep, like usual.”

“This story is boring,” Remus complained. “He’s going to play the prank _again_ , like every other day.”

“Not this day. This day was special.”

“Why?”

“Because this time, there was a real . . . life . . . _wolf!_ ” Lyall pounced on the last word, widening his eyes for effect, smirking internally at the small gasp of fear Remus let out.

“The boy ran towards the village, telling everyone there was a wolf, but no one would believe him. They thought it was another prank, no matter what the boy said. He had taken advantage of them too many times, and they wouldn’t help him anymore.”

“What happened to the sheep?"

“The wolf ate them all. The boy lost all his sheep. The end.”

Remus was quiet for a moment, mulling the fable over in his mind. “I didn’t like that story very much. It was sad.”

“Well then, maybe you should learn a lesson from it,” Lyall stood from the bed, stretching his back before grabbing the corner of the bedsheet and tossing it carelessly upon the boy. “Stop crying wolf, because if there ever is a real wolf, no one will believe you.” Remus wiggled and made himself comfortable, gazing up at his father.

“Okay Dad. I won’t cry wolf anymore. Promise.”

Lyall nodded resolutely. “Good boy. Now good night.” He ignored the hum Remus gave in reply before grabbing his wand from the bed covers and padding out of the bedroom, closing the door without too much care.

He made his way to the sitting room, immensely pleased with himself. Hope glanced up from her reopened novel, pursing her lips disapprovingly. “The boy who cried wolf? Really, Lyall?”

“It’ll teach him a lesson. And I can finally read the _Prophet_ in peace.”

Hope sighed and went back to her paperback.

\---

The following night, Lyall had a cup of tea in his hand, sitting on the counter idly. Hope was finishing off the book, no doubt so she could badger Lyall for another one. As he took another sip, Lyall cleaned off his quill, setting on the tabletop. The forms laid out in front of him were cleanly completed, and he knew his boss would be impressed. Just another thing that would consider him for the promotion, not that blasted Rufus. 

Suddenly, he heard a cry from down the hall. “Daddy! Dad, there’s a wolf under my bed.”

“Oh for the love ofー” Lyall put his head in his hands, ignoring the ink stains, before throwing it back to face the ceiling. 

“He definitely learned that lesson, didn’t he.” Hope sounded amused, not even bothering to look up from her novel.

“Oh, stuff it.” Lyall groused, slamming the teacup down rougher than required and walking towards the corridor yet again without bothering to pick up his wand. He opened the door and sighed upon entry.

Remus had covered himself in blankets and pillows, until only a barely discernible shape was visible among the pile. 

“We went over this, Remus.”

“But I swear, Dad! There’s a wolf! He says that if I move, he’ll eat me.” The voice was muffled, but desperately scared. Lyall paused for only a moment before remembering his son’s acting performance from the night before.

“This isn’t funny anymore, Remus. Go to sleep, _now._ ” He closed the door.

Lyall stormed through the sitting room and grabbed his wand, ignoring Hope’s concerned gaze. “I’m off to bed. Hopefully I’ll get some rest for once in my bloody life,” he said tartly.

He was proved wrong when, just a few minutes later later, an ear splitting shriek of pain pierced through the house. Lyall raced to his son’s room, wand at the ready and flinging curses. However, once he saw his son’s agonizing sobs, the blood splattered across his wracking body, and the body heaving itself through the broken window, illuminated by the dying light of the curse he had just cast, he did not sleep soundly a single night for the rest of his life.

\---

“Yeah, mate. How did a tiny, book-loving, sweater-wearing, chocolate-eating nerd become our resident lovable werewolf?” James had grinned at him, the textbook and assignment forgotten in the face of learning something new about his friend. Peter leaned forward, careful not to miss a word.

And Sirius. Sirius, who looked soft and utterly content in Remus’ embrace. Sirius, who gazed up at him with pure curiosity and affectionate openness. Sirius, who did not know it was Remus’ fault in the first place, who did not know he only had himself to blame for his affliction.

So, Remus simply shrugged. “I was the boy who cried wolf.”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about the mauraders and a plethora of other fandoms on my tumblr: river-bottom-nightmare
> 
> kudos and comments are very welcome!


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